


Mortal Bonds

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [14]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Gen, Magic, Mortality, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Carolina and Simmons have an unexpected meeting.





	Mortal Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> We're nearing the midseason finale of season two of _Carolina: The Teenage Witch!_! Enjoy some Simmons and Carolina bonding. 
> 
> Thanks goes out to Aryashi for looking this over and for suggesting the Dishonorable Mention.

Carolina loves the speed spell. She loves the way it feels like she’s skimming the earth. She loves the feeling too, afterwards, all of her muscles aching from well-earned exhaustion. And she loves the solitude of it-- after that first time, Church laughed and left her to it, so she’s alone on these paths when she runs. It’s the perfect distraction for a little while every day. The roaring wind and the exhaustion temporarily erase her thoughts, whether it’s worry about Felix and Locus or her missing her parents. It’s only once the exhaustion ebbs that her thoughts crowd in again.

Right now, though, she’s still walking down the path, trying to find the best secluded spot for today’s spell. There was a storm the night before. Leaves are scattered on the path, half-concealing it.

She’s almost to her regular starting spot when she hears something she hasn’t heard in the weeks since she started using the spell on a daily basis: a human voice.

“Okay, well, _that_ didn’t work,” the voice mutters. It sounds like a man, and familiar in its exasperation.

Carolina takes a few careful steps forward, trying to be quiet despite the leaves underfoot, and pokes her head around the tree. She immediately forgets to be stealthy. “Mr. Simmons?”

Mr. Simmons yelps, whirling to face her with a guilty look. His arms flail for a second, like he can hide the table and its contents behind him. Then he blinks at her. His expression shifts to, weirdly enough, relief mixed with embarrassment. He coughs, lowering his arms and crossing them against his chest. “Uh, good morning, Carolina. You’re, uh, taking a walk?”

“Yeah,” she says, trying to eye the table without being too obvious. She recognizes some of the ingredients, stuff that Grey and Kimball use for spells at the brownstone. Is he trying to do magic? “What are you doing?” She hesitates, glancing around, but Grif isn’t here.

It’s just her and Simmons, who smiles awkwardly. “Well, I was experimenting with a few spells. And by experimenting, I mean failing, but--” He shrugs. “I can’t do the experiments at school during the summer, and Grif doesn’t like me trying to do magic at the apartment where a Council inspector could drop in at any moment, so...the woods it is.”  

Church would be walking away from this conversation already or telling Simmons that he needs to stop messing around with magic. But Carolina is curious. She keeps thinking about what Church said about mortals not being able to do magic, when Simmons clearly can, and what that means for the Council law if mortals and witches aren’t as different as everyone claims. “What spells are you trying to do?” she asks.

His face lights up. “Oh, so, uh, actually, I did another spell since the teleportation one. A really small one, but it worked.”

Carolina blinks. She imagines Church’s reaction to that. “How small?”

“Tie someone’s shoelaces together small,” he says with a slight crook of his mouth, but when Carolina squints at him, he refuses to elaborate. Instead his expression clouds. “But I can’t replicate the spells once I’ve cast them successfully. I keep trying to figure out why I can do it sometimes, and why I can’t, but--” He shrugs. “I don’t have enough data.”

Carolina remembers the pallor of Simmons’ face, the heavy weight of him as she and Church carried him to his apartment. She watches him carefully as she asks, “And you were okay, afterwards? No fainting?”

Simmons frowns. “Just a little dizziness, but that might’ve been--” He stops and twists his mouth again. Some of his enthusiasm fades. “There were extenuating circumstances. The dizziness might not have been related. But anyway, to actually answer your question, I’ve been trying to make some potions with ingredients mortals have access to-- not easy when half the time you need something like a basilisk tooth or a vial of courage. So far, nothing’s working.”

“Weird,” Carolina says.

He sighs. “Yeah.” Then he blinks. “Wait, what are you doing out there? This is a little secluded to be walking alone.”

“Yeah, I might meet some strange people,” Carolina says dryly, and Simmons stares at her for a second before he laughs. “But I was actually doing a spell. Church taught me--” She stops at his expression. “Do you want to see?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” Simmons says quickly, but he’s vibrating with excitement. “Just let me--” He fumbles for a notebook and a pencil and then stares at her expectantly before he realizes he’s staring.

His enthusiasm is sort of infectious, actually. Carolina cups her hands together and brings them to her mouth. “All you’re supposed to need is runner’s breath and focus,” she says, trying to remember Church’s exact instructions. “I have to think about the wind, my breath, the ground, the fastest I’ve ever run, and then just think about how I want to go faster than that.”

Her hands glow. She can feel the familiar buzz of energy and the warmth spreading through her body. Now she’s vibrating herself. She smiles at him and adds, “And then I just _run_ ,” and bolts. His face blurs, but she hears him gasp as she races around him, weaving through the trees. She slows as the exhaustion starts to hit, because she doesn’t want to be completely wiped out. Somehow she suspects he’s going to have a bunch of questions. She stops, breathing hard and relishing the muscle ache. She pulls off her backpack and unzips it slightly, grabbing for the water bottle. She takes a drink as Simmons scribbles furiously in his notebook.  

He glances up, grinning from ear to ear. “Amazing. Does that glow happen every time? How does it feel? Are there any side effects? If so, how long do they last? How--” He stops when Carolina laughs.

“One question at a time,” she says.

“Right, right,” he says, flushing a little but still grinning. His pencil pauses.

She tries to remember some of the questions. “Um, the glow’s every time. The spell feels a bit buzzy, sort of? Like you just feel like you have a lot of energy. And I get really tired, like when I’ve had a really long, good run.”

He nods slowly. He taps his pencil against the notebook page. He’s frowning, but it’s thoughtful. ““Grif says witches don’t always have to use verbal spells, so I guess this must be like a nonverbal passion spell? Ugh, I need a better labeling system.” He stops with a shake of his head. “Right. So the speed spell needs runner’s breath and concentrating on the wind, memories of running, and the desire to go even faster? How long does it usually last?”

Carolina shrugs. “I’ve never kept track. I just run until I get tired.”

Simmons looks a little disappointed. “I should’ve timed it.” He brightens. “Could you do the spell again? No, wait, you said you’re tired, never mind. Sorry, it’s just-- Grif can’t do magic while he’s a familiar, so all I can do is ask him questions and use the, uh, copy of your brother’s spellbook. It’s amazing to get an actual demonstration of magic.”

Carolina watches him scribble something else in his notebook. “So that’s where you keep notes for your experiments?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Well, and then I have the copied spellbook.” He hesitates a second, and then waves her towards the table. It’s one of those fold-up ones for a college dorm, but cluttered with ingredients, a cheap-looking cauldron, and the copied spellbook he mentioned. “I mostly have a list of failed spells at this point, but when I figure out what made the difference between the failures and the successes, I want to try them again.”

Carolina picks up the spellbook, which is a collection of photocopied pages held together in a folder. From the corner of her eye she sees Simmons make a small, aborted movement like he’s worried she’s going to destroy it like Church probably wants to. He relaxes when she flips through it slowly. The photocopied spellbook is full of highlighted spells, annotations, and scribbled comments in the margins, mostly a lot of question marks and the occasional reminder to try when he has access to the Other Realm’s ingredients. There’s one or two that have another note, to try when Grif is human again. Every single page has something on it.

Carolina feels a pang of guilt. Simmons is so interested in magic. Meanwhile, her spellbook is in her room, collecting dust. Actually, literally, collecting dust. It's gathered at least an inch of dust to it as it sulks over neglect. She can’t remember the last time she opened it. Both luckily and unluckily Kimball has been too distracted to prod her into trying new spells. She half-wishes she could give up her powers and give them to Simmons. “I’m here right now in case anything happens. You could try the speed spell yourself,” she suggests, before she thinks of Church’s reaction to that suggestion.

It’s too late to take it back though, especially when Simmons beams at her. “Well, I-- I mean, I guess if I did a passion spell before, this isn’t too different, I could _try_.” He laughs nervously. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Carolina, remembering how he collapsed after the teleportation spell, bites her lip. She’s already half-regretting this and wondering how she can keep this a secret from Church.

He sets the notebook on the table and then rubs his hands together. There’s nervousness in his face, but mostly excitement. Carolina feels another pang of guilt. He clearly loves magic. She wishes she could, but magic has had too many price tags.

Simmons cups his hands and says with another quick smile, “So how do we define a runner? I mean, I’ll run for exercise, but I never ran track like you, so does that--”

Sighing, Carolina leans forward and blows a quick breath into his hands.

He stares down at his cupped hands, blinking, and then closes his eyes. “Think of the wind,” he whispers, and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize he’s talking out loud. “The wind, and running, and--”

Carolina doesn’t know who’s more surprised when his hands start to glow, herself or Simmons.

The magic is a dark red that casts the strange glow onto his stunned features as he holds it closer to his face and gawks. She’s standing close enough that she can see his hands start to tremble, the shaking spreading through his frame, though it’s hard to tell if the trembling is from excitement, the spell, or a mixture of both.

“Oh,” he says, voice low and wondering. “Oh, yeah, I see what you--” He laughs, and Carolina’s hair whips into her face as he races past her.

She spins, trying to track him, but he’s already out of sight. She sees some leaves floating gently to the ground from where he’s knocked them down, but that’s the only way she even knows which direction he went. She waits for him to race back into the clearing, loop around her like she did to him, but he doesn’t. Carolina tries to remember her exact words to him on when she stopped the spell, but can’t remember if she was detailed enough. What if he pushes himself too hard and collapses deeper in the forest? She takes a deep breath, relieved, when she hears the rustling nearby two minutes later.

To her surprise, Simmons stumbles back into the clearing, the spell already fading to a faint light around his fingers before that glow vanishes as well. She frowns. She knows she’s never timed her own castings for this spell, but two or four minutes feels quick.

There are leaves in his hair and his glasses are slightly askew, and he’s heaving breaths like he’s run a marathon. He’s still grinning, though, even as he pants and wipes a shaky hand across his forehead. “Wow,” he manages to say between gasps.

She sees the second the spell’s after-effects hit him with a vengeance. His grin drops off his face. He swallows hard. The flush turns to sickly splotches. His legs start to fold under him, and Carolina has to dive forward to help him sit down rather than fall down.

He doesn’t pass out though, just closes his eyes and breathes raggedly.

Carolina feels his pulse. It’s fast, and the clamminess of his skin is alarming. She bites her lips. “Should I--” She stops. She could call for Church, but she’s not looking forward to him yelling. Then again, Mr. Simmons is more important than her pride. “I could call Church--”

He shakes his head, and then grimaces like he regrets the movement. “Just...give me a minute,” he says, his voice scratchy. He takes a deep breath, and then another. “Don’t throw up,” he says, though it’s a mutter, and she thinks he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

This feels familiar. After a second, Carolina realizes why. She’s seen people look like this after overworking during rebuilding and recovery. He might be dehydrated or just exhausted. She presses her water bottle into his hands. “Drink slowly,” she says. “Small sips.”

He obeys. A minute or two after he’s finished the water, his breathing grows steadier. The red leaves his face. He manages a wobbly smile. “Well, I didn’t pass out this time?” he offers weakly. “That’s progress.”

Carolina frowns. She feels a little shaky herself, coming down from the panic that she was going to have to deal with a unconscious Mr. Simmons and explain herself to Church. She shakes her head. “Maybe Church was right. If magic hurts you--”

Simmons looks alarmed. His eyes dart over to the table and the notebook and spellbook. “I’m fine, Sure, I got a little queasy, but that’s worth it to do magic.”

“A little queasy,” Carolina repeats flatly. “You almost fainted.”

“But I didn’t!” His fingers drum an agitated beat on the empty bottle. He frowns. His eyes slide away from hers. He mutters,  “I wonder what made the difference between failure and success. If I could repeat the spell-- which I won’t, clearly, because that would be a terrible idea.” This assurance is made hastily as Simmons notices the look on her face. “But I need to do a controlled experiment. If I repeat the speed spell tomorrow, would it work again? Maybe I need a witch beside me-- but no, if that was the case, Grif’s been there half the time and the spells still failed. Unless his familiar situation complicates things. There was the weird magic thing at--”

He snaps his mouth shut and gets a weird look on his face. He flushes faintly, and for a second she’s worried he’s still experiencing after-effects before she realizes he’s embarrassed about something. “Anyway!” he says firmly. “It’s my decision to continue experimenting with magic. I’ll just, um, stick with smaller spells for the time being.”

Carolina has her mouth open, ready to argue, when he smiles at her.

“I mean, would _you_ stop using magic just because it was dangerous?”

Carolina forgets what she was about to say. She laughs. It scrapes her throat and comes out bitter. “Magic’s not worth it,” she says. It’s a struggle to keep her voice steady. “Not when you’re half-mortal, anyway.”

Simmons frowns. “Right, I remember you said that your mom is mortal. But what does that have to do with magic not being worth it?”

Carolina looks up into his puzzled face and realizes that Grif hasn’t told him about the half-witch laws. She almost laughs again. She wonders why Grif didn’t say anything. “Yeah, uh. The Council doesn’t like the idea of witch-mortal marriages. They’ve made a couple laws about it, which means I can’t see my mom until I get my witch’s license.”

“You can’t what?”

“Once I turned sixteen and got my powers, I had to come live with Dr. Grey and Ms. Kimball until I can get my witch’s license, which is when I’m eighteen. Otherwise--” Her throat tightens. “Otherwise bad things happen to my mom.”

“Bad things,” Simmons repeats slowly. “What kind of bad things?”

“She gets turned into a ball of wax,” Carolina says. “And I’ll never see her again.” She shakes her head. “When I accidentally freed Felix and Locus, I was trying-- I wanted-- I missed her.”

For a long second the only sound in the clearing is the protesting noise the empty water bottle makes as Simmons crushes it in his hand. He stares at her, his expression darkening. She’s convinced, suddenly, her stomach lurching, that he’s going to scold her for risking her mom’s safety just because she was homesick, or freak out over the mention of Felix and Locus. Then he starts talking, in a thin, hard voice, and she realizes that his anger isn’t directed at her.

“Let me get this straight. The Council doesn’t like witch-mortal marriages. So they created rules that if a witch does marry a mortal and they have kids, the kids are taken away from them for _two years_? And put with strangers? And if the kids try to see their mortal parent during that time, _they’ll never get to see each other again_?”

Hearing the outrage in his voice is...weird. A good weird, but weird. She’s so used to Kimball, Grey, and Church, who are sympathetic but witches down to their bones, who don’t understand that two years feels like a lifetime. Her throat’s still tight. Carolina settles for a nod.

“Okay. Right. I’m gonna-- one second,” Simmons says. He stands up, swaying a little, but he’s already stalking towards the woods before Carolina can get herself together enough to steady him. He disappears beyond the tree line. A few minutes later, there’s a strange sound, like a bird screeching.

Carolina doesn’t move, except to pick up the crumpled bottle and turn it over slowly in her hands, remembering the anger that destroyed it. Simmons’ anger feels like validation, even if it doesn’t change anything in the long run. She still can’t see her mom for thirteen months. But it helps a little to know someone else also thinks this is screwed up.  

When Simmons returns, he’s clearly still furious. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath, and then another. Then he looks at her and says in a dangerously even voice, “Carolina, I’m sorry about the rules. The Council shouldn’t be allowed to decide who should get married, and they definitely shouldn’t do this to kids. Separating families is--” He twists his mouth. “Separating loving families isn’t right.”

Carolina can’t say a word. There’s a lump in her throat, and her eyes are prickly. She blinks hard as Simmons’ face blurs. She’s not going to cry in front of him, she tells herself. Just because he’s sympathetic and being nice doesn’t mean that she can cry on his shoulder. He’s her teacher. It’d be weird. She blinks hard, willing the tears away, and nods again in mute agreement.  

“Um, but yeah,” Simmons says in a different tone of voice. When she refocuses on his face, she sees that his expression has shifted from outrage to awkwardness. He scratches at his neck. “The Council doesn’t seem fair in general. I mean, look what they did to Grif.”

Carolina frowns. For a second she wants to resist the obvious topic change, but it’s enough that he’s sympathetic. If she tries to talk about it any more, she’ll just get angrier. “Turning him into a familiar? Didn’t he help murderers?”

“He didn’t know who Locus was,” Simmons says. “It was a mistake, but not one that meant he needed to be a witch familiar for ten years.” Some doubt must creep into her expression, because he looks a little surprised. “What, did you think he helped a murderer on purpose?”

Grif sounded like Felix, Carolina wants to say. She remembers the two conversations, the weird echoes of similar thought, like they were reading off the same script. Looking into Simmons’ puzzled face, though, she licks her lips and says instead, “No offense, Mr. Simmons, but the first time we met, he suggested blackmail.”

Simmons blinks. Then, unexpectedly, the tension eases out of him and he laughs. “He did, didn’t he?” He shakes his head, smiling. His tone is fond. “Wow, he is _so_ bad at first impressions. You should hear how he and I met.”

Carolina hesitates. She studies his amused expression. Maybe she has misjudged Grif, if Simmons can live with him for so long and not doubt his motives. But it’s more likely that Grif’s just a really good liar. It’s her turn to change the topic, though not to one she actually wants to discuss. “Okay. Um, speaking of Felix and Locus, they’re still out there, but they're probably in the Other Realm. The witch news says there were a few recent robberies linked to them.”

Simmons frowns. “There’s a witch news channel?” When she nods, he sighs. “That would be so useful. But uh, thanks for the update. That’s good about the robberies. Well, not _good_ , but least Felix and Locus are probably in the Other Realm. I was worried they were going to try and--” He falters to a stop. He grimaces and concludes, “Tie up loose ends….”  

Carolina thinks of the knife in her backpack. The proximity of the spell is about a mile, give or take. She has to take it with her pretty much everywhere, the exception being a carefully planned run around the neighborhood. She swallows down another bitter laugh. “No,” she says. “Felix knows that we can’t do anything at all. He has more important people to hurt.”

“What do you mean? Do you think they’re going after the Council again?”

“Yeah. I mean, he said--” Carolina bites her lip, but it’s too late, Simmons’ eyes are already narrowing.

He crouches down so that they’re face to face, his expression intent. “Carolina, I don’t remember Felix saying anything about the Council before I ran in and grabbed you and Church. Have you seen Felix since that night?”

Carolina’s stomach twists, because there’s concern in his eyes. “Just once,” she admits. “He came back to the school. Sat down next to me during study hall and said-- he said if we just kept our heads down, he and Locus would take care of the Council. And he gave me this.”

When she pulls out the knife, Simmons unbalances and sits down with a thump on the grass. His eyes go wide. “Oh sh--shoot. That’s, uh, a knife. Can’t you just throw it away?”

“No, he did a spell so I can’t get rid of it or hide it somewhere. I have to be within a mile of it or it just sort of...appears again.”

“And you can’t destroy it?”

Carolina gives him a long look and then picks up a nearby rock. It’s warm from the sunshine. When she brings it down on the knife, it makes a satisfying sound even if nothing happens. She hits the knife a couple times for good measure and then lets the rock drop. Not even the handle is cracked.

Simmons sighs. “Okay, point made. You can’t destroy it with magic?”

“Do you want me to try and melt it with fire?” Carolina asks.

Simmons’ expression says that he does, but he shakes his head and mutters, “Man, dispel magic would be really handy right now…..”

Carolina stares blankly for a second, but when he doesn’t elaborate, she says, “He sealed his magic. That means I can’t do anything. Either he has to end the spell or a powerful group like the Council has to work together to break it.”

“Right.” Simmons scowls at the knife, looking angry on Carolina’s behalf again. “And of course you can’t go to the Council, because if they turned Grif into a cat for accidentally helping Locus, they’ll definitely do the same to you.” He huffs. “I really want to know what their criminal justice system looks like. It sounds _awful_.”  

Carolina snorts. “They’ll turn my mom into a ball of wax if I even try to send her an unsigned birthday card. I don’t think they care about anyone’s rights. Did Grif tell you that they actually have a rule that you can’t do charitable magic?”

“What?”

“Yeah!” Simmons is looking outraged again. Emboldened, Carolina adds, “They gave me this whole speech about how charitable magic and doing nice things for mortals always backfires! But any spell could backfire if you don’t think it through. I’d do food spells and clothing spells for my mom’s organization. How could free food and clothing backfire?”

“Besides, what are these nice things witches are doing for mortals that went wrong? I want examples,” Simmons says. Then he rolls his eyes. “How do they know what mortals want, when they can’t even ask them? This one witch, the one who’s overseeing Grif’s sentence, treats me like an idiot. I swear he acts like mortals are a whole separate, lesser species.”

“There’s a witch overseeing Grif’s sentence?”

Simmons makes a face. “Yes. He’s only visited twice so far.”

Two times too many, Carolina judges from his expression. “Is he a member of the Council?”

“Just someone working for them, I think?” Simmons shrugs. “Honestly, he’s never even bothered to introduce himself, so he could be like the Head of the Council and I wouldn’t know. Pretty sure he’s just some stooge though.”

“Ms. Kimball was visited by one of those too. Apparently you can get put on a list just for talking to Felix or Locus a couple times centuries ago.”

Simmons makes a face. “Centuries. That’s… Yeah. Isn’t it weird, the way they drop stuff like that into conversations, like it’s perfectly normal to have been around for the War of 1812?”

“It’s so weird! I don’t even know how old my dad is. Maybe four or five hundred? He’s older than the United States!” Carolina feels strange just thinking about it. “But you said Grif doesn’t have access to magic right now? So at least you don’t have to deal with the toaster.”

Simmons looks confused. “The toaster?”

Carolina sighs. “That’s how mail from the Other Realm is delivered. Through the toaster. Half the time I’m waiting for toast and get a letter instead.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why not just set up a magical mailbox and keep it separate? Ugh, witch logic. But at least you don’t have to deal with Grif’s cat hair. You’d think that witch familiars wouldn’t shed like regular animals, but they do.” Simmons pauses. He reaches for the notebook. “So, the mail, do witches have to do something special to the envelopes to keep them from burning, or is there a certain enchantment on the toaster, or--”

“I have no idea,” Carolina says.

Simmons sighs. He looks slightly rueful.  “Right.”

Carolina remembers Church then, and what he’d say if he knew she was sitting in the park, complaining about witches with Mr. Simmons. She spins the knife on the ground, watching the sunlight catch on the metal. “Uh, so, can we not tell Church I showed you that spell? He’s weird about mortals using magic.”

“I noticed,” Simmons says dryly. “But yeah, I won’t tell him. Can you not tell Grif how sick I got? I only just got him convinced I won’t kill myself doing magic, and that might put me back at square one.”

Carolina smirks. “Mutual blackmail?”

Simmons laughs. “Yeah. Mutual blackmail.”

Some of Carolina’s amusement fades when she remembers how sick Simmons had been. She studies his face for a quick second, but he looks fine now. She says, “You said you only got a little dizzy with your shoe-tying spell, right? Maybe it depends on the power of the spell. Or, well, maybe it’s because you did a spell on someone else and not yourself?”

Simmons nods, tapping his pencil against his notebook. “I had that thought too, though until I can reliably do magic any time I attempt a spell it’s hard to set up a controlled experiment. It could be the difference between mortal and witch physiology. Maybe your bodies are better designed to handle the effects of magic.” He looks briefly concerned by the thought, and then just as immediately brightens. “But side effects or not, I can do magic! That speed spell was _amazing_. Well, until I fell over, but just the energy and the speed, and--” He waves his hand around, smiling.

Carolina smiles back. “It’s a fun spell. I like the clothing spell too, but I have enough clothes.”

“The clothing spell?”

“Apparently witches can make clothing out of nothing. I concentrate on an outfit, snap my fingers, and then I’m wearing it.” Remembering her own questions to Grey, she adds, “It doesn’t transform your original clothes. The new ones just sort of appear.”

“Interesting,” Simmons says as he scribbles something in his notebook. He makes a face, though he looks more intrigued than frustrated. “Wow, that spell ignores the whole conservation of mass and other laws of physics, which totally isn’t weird at all. Then again, so does the witch familiar spell. I wonder-- And it can be anything?”

“Well, there’s a copyright rule. So you can’t make Gucci or anything brand name, but you can make like a knock-off version.”

Simmons raises an eyebrow. A wry smile curls his lips. “So witches can ignore the conservation of mass and have a terrible justice system, but they draw the line at copyright infringement.”

Carolina shrugs.

“Witch logic,” Simmons says with a sigh.

“Witch logic,” she agrees. She carefully slides the knife back into her backpack. “I need to get back. I promised Ms. Kimball we’d do a movie marathon today after my run.”

Simmons looks disappointed, and then nods. He gets to his feet. “Thanks for showing me the spell, Carolina.”

“You’re welcome.” Carolina hesitates. She has a sudden vision of Simmons repeating the spell as soon as she’s out of earshot and passing out. “Maybe wait a couple days before you try the speed spell again? When Church taught me, he said it was a big, flashy spell that uses up a lot of energy.”

“And if it uses up a lot of witch energy, it’ll probably take even more of mine,” Simmons says, sighing. He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it. “Okay. I’ll go back to trying smaller spells for a couple days.” He smiles again. “Grif wants me to experiment with food spells. Maybe I’ll give one a try.”

Carolina snorts. “Yeah, food spells are Church’s favorite too.” She’s shouldering her backpack when Simmons clears his throat. She pauses, looking over to find that the amusement disappeared from his face. He looks serious.

“Carolina, please tell me if Felix bothers you again. I know I can’t really, uh, do much, but I want to help.” He smiles weakly. “At least we know I can help you and Church make a fast getaway.”

“I,” Carolina says. She plucks at her backpack straps, fidgeting with them. She probably shouldn’t get him involved, not when he can’t use magic reliably, and not when he’d risk discovery from the Council. But it’s so _nice_ to have an adult on her side, who thinks witches are as weird as she does, who's sympathetic about how much she misses her mom. She nods slowly. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good!” Simmons says, looking relieved. “You still have my phone number?”

“I think so.” Unless Church threw it out, she doesn’t add. “Wash definitely does.”

“Right,” Simmons says. “I hope he wasn’t too upset when Grif wasn’t in the apartment. I really didn’t think Grif was going to sneak into my car like that.”

Carolina remembers Wash’s growing panic as he searched the apartment for Grif. By the time he had steeled himself to call Simmons, he’d been practically hyperventilating and wondering out loud if a teacher could retroactively fail a student for losing his cat. She bites her lip.  “Uh, he was a little upset. But he was just glad Grif was okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Carolina gets back to the brownstone, Kimball is in the middle of rewinding a VHS tape, her finger glowing faintly and a rueful look on her face. “Blockbuster’s wasting those stickers that remind people to rewind,” she says, smiling at Carolina. The spell ends, and the VHS tape drops into Kimball’s hands. “But I think you’ll like the movies. Katharine Hepburn is amazing. And I was going to make some popcorn. Church is off at Tucker's so we can actually have most of it to ourselves.”

“Sounds good,” Carolina says, though she doesn’t recognize the actress's name. She enjoyed the Buster Keaton movies, though, when they’d watched them, despite Church’s groaning and complaining. “Just let me take a quick shower?”

The spellbook is on her bedside table, still dramatically gathering stuff. Even as she watches, dust motes drift around the room and slowly get drawn towards the book and settle lightly upon the inch of dust already there. When it notices her watching, it gives a forlorn little twitch. She frowns at it, feeling another pang of guilt as she remembers Simmons’ photocopied spellbook, all the effort Simmons has made in studying magic. Maybe she’ll leaf through her book at some point and find some small spells that he might want to try.

Not today though. Today she drops her backpack on the floor, mutters, "Don't be so dramatic," at the book, and gives it a wide berth on her way to the bathroom.

She’ll look at it later.

**Author's Note:**

> **Dishonorable Mention**
> 
> 2x14 - Final Yard Sale - This would be a good episode...if it had aired earlier in the season. Instead, it’s a total let-down as the episode after the midseason finale (which we’ll discuss next time because oh man, that episode is a _lot_ to process). The neighborhood is doing a community yard sale to raise funds for a family who lost their house to a fire. Rather than give up any of his own stuff, Church sells some stuff from Grey’s house, not bothering to check if they were magical or not. Then he has to get them back without Kimball or Grey being any the wiser. Cue some fun shenanigans that reference absolutely nothing of what happened in the last episode. After this and Feeling Blue in season one, we’re beginning to think there’s a curse on the next episode after a midseason finale.


End file.
